


The Devil's Lullaby

by MusicalProstituteMyDear



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Angst, Crying, Gen, God's A+ Parenting, I know this is ooc but writing is my therapy okay, I'm sorry in advance y'all, Infantilism, Little!Lucifer, Minor Character Death, Non-Sexual Age Play, spoilers for the show!, tw for some violence, working thru some family trauma(tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalProstituteMyDear/pseuds/MusicalProstituteMyDear
Summary: After Lucifer says ‘goodbye’ to his mum once and for all, watching Chloe parade around with Pierce, his wings coming back, not to mention the sleepless nights... the walls he’d spent eons constructing to protect himself come tumbling down. Thankfully, his big brother is there to pick up the pieces of what’s left.(Or, the author just really wanted more regressor!Luci content.)
Relationships: Amenadiel & Linda Martin (Lucifer TV), Amenadiel & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Amenadiel/Linda Martin (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So, I’m back! College has been pretty okay! I want to start off by shining a light on my good bud Meme (@memelovescap), who I blame 100% for getting me obsessed with this show (thank you darling I love you beyond literal comprehension). Also, I tried my damndest to keep this in character, but eh… I take some liberties (pls don’t come for me, this is my apology). Set sometime during the season three finale!
> 
> I plan to finish off this particular story within one chapter, but as you see, I'm making this a series! Please, please, PLEASE if anyone has any ideas/scenarios they’d like to see, tell me! I’ll get on them promptly.

For once in his rather long life, the angel Amenadiel—favourite, Firstborn, impenetrable Fury of God—just wanted someone to hit him so hard over the head with a brick that he slept for an entire century. Heavenly Father, what he’d give just to experience a mere ten minutes of serenity! Preferably somewhere tropical, lounging in the summer rays with one of those frozen fruity drinks Linda was so mad about, with far too much tequila and the tiniest little umbrellas— 

Amenadiel is promptly brought back to reality when a fresh round of sobbing breaks out in the direction of his brother’s bedroom; he’d popped out just to grab him some water when the whimpering state he’d left him in grows to become something far worse than he’d imagined. Not a single damned thing he tried alleviated whatever it was that was stressing his brother out so immensely—even as a child, the rebellious son had never been too keen on working through his emotions, so how could Amenadiel believe he’d be any different as a grown entity? Maybe he _should_ call Linda… 

As the eldest son weighs his options, he replays the night’s events over and over in his mind and wonders how he’d found himself shushing and soothing the notorious former King of Hell and his rather obvious bawling. 

* * *

To begin, Amenadiel had known for certain that when his brother finished with his mundane human job for the day, he’d waltz his way back into the den of sin he called home to indulge in the pleasures of their Father’s creations, blue in the face from doing blowjob shots off the bodies of Los Angeles’ largest, most emotionally-stunted population. Ever since they two had revealed divinity to Charlotte Richards following the unfortunate “passing” away of their mother, Lucifer felt as though a piece of himself left alongside her. They spent millennia in the same horrific realm, and although they were in physical proximity, they could not be farther away; in the grand scheme of the universe, they barely spent any time as mother and son, and there was a miniscule spark that ignited within Heaven’s most unruly child at the possibility of rebuilding that relationship from the ground up. Everyone comes to LA to reinvent themselves, right? Surely parental connections weren’t off remodeling limits, he hoped. Ha. There certainly was a special corner of Hell reserved specifically for the first soul Lucifer ever revealed that fact to. 

Not that it mattered anymore. Vanished to… well, only God knew where, thanks to him. Never to be seen again. 

The soldier can feel some internal magnitude yank at his heartstrings as he passes the entrance to the club as though it was just another building. Quite a long line that was wrapped around the avenue for a Thursday night, Amenadiel observed astutely, and the angel had to wonder how these humans could go so long without rest. They did a lot of things that perplexed him, so it was best if he let them do what did best. 

It’d been weeks since he’d spoken to his brother, and all he really had to do was just, well, walk right in there and have a proper sit down with him. Breaking down his psyche’s impenetrable walls was easier said than done, especially considering the insurmountable Mommy and Daddy Issues festering within the younger Morningstar since the literal birth of recorded time and space. 

He scoffs. He found he had to keep reminding himself of the fact that his brother no longer depended on him the way he did when he was a newborn celestial. After centuries of being an only child, the singular product of their parent’s love, Amenadiel rejoiced upon learning of Father and Mother’s intentions to gift him his first true task: teaching his younger siblings the wonderment of their Father, and how best to serve Him. 

The days of their boyhood fascination were long behind them, the Rebellion placing miles between the children they once were and the men that stood in their shoes at the present day. Sure, they had their (less than obvious) differences, but despite all odds, Amenadiel would sacrifice himself endlessly for Lucifer—as being mortal for a short while taught him the true value of family. 

The soldier can feel a semblance of annoyance swell at the pit of his stomach thinking of how Lucifer would never, ever reciprocate such inclinations. He was _selfish_ , and headstrong, and impulsive, and made far too many sexual jokes to ever stop himself and realise that he indeed wasn’t the centre of the universe. Amenadiel wished Lucifer would just listen to what he had to say, wished he could show him how much he truly cared for him, how he wanted to fix their relationship for the better. But, it wasn’t their Father’s will for the tiger to readily change its stripes on command—the nature of an already stubborn individual, too. 

Amenadiel decided there was nothing he needed to fret over and kept moving forward. It was a stupid and futile gesture, attempting to have a serious conversation with Lucifer. He wouldn’t make the mistake of wasting his precious time this go-around. The angel shakes the doubt from his head and continues forward into the night, searching for humans to bless or watch over until the first morning light. 

Suddenly, the soft tugging he’d felt not minutes earlier turned utterly violent in nature and he stopped dead in his tracks, as though he no longer had control of his human body. He cries out in pain without a single thought of the humans on the street that were eyeing him quizzically; his vision going dark and his ears ring a deafening frequency, but through this internal turmoil, he recognises an input clear as day that could be none other than...

 _Go to him, Son,_ the unnerving voice seemed to say. _Our Lightbringer needs you._

Overwhelmed, Amenadiel could feel his thoughts come to a halt as his eyes began to fill with tears—no, it _couldn’t_ have been Him. 

Amenadiel was not the sort of fool to avoid his Father’s direct orders. 

Before long, he’s managed to sneak past the bouncers and card through hundreds of scantily clad ladies and their horny escorts, blissfully dancing their singular youths away to music that would make Mozart’s ears bleed. Amenadiel finally makes his way down the grand staircase to find his sibling seated at his gorgeous, African-blackwood Model D Steinway absentmindedly plucking the keys as if there wasn’t a cacophony of partying engulfing the piano’s exterior. He blinks slowly and snuffs out the cigarette he’d been puffing into the lustrous ashtray that sat atop the instrument before taking a swig of some amber liquid that sloshed shallowly in a cup made from the same glistening crystal. As if on a cartoonish cue, Lucifer turns to his left and catches a glimpse of his eldest brother looming mere feet in front of him. A smug grin blossoms on his lips, half-spent eyelids conveying to him his obvious, restless state of being. 

“Ah, brother. See you ditched knitting club for one evening. Pray the other grannies won’t be too mad at you.” Lucifer extends his right arm towards his sibling, beckoning him near to place a firm hand on his shoulder. Amenadiel doesn’t bother to acknowledge his brother’s sarcasm (Linda did show him how to do a simple crochet hook, once, and he found it to be rather fascinating).

“Lucifer, you look like Hell, man,” he comments nonchalantly, to which the brunet raises a knowing brow, ready to spew the appropriate witty remark. Amenadiel sighs, taking a deep breath before blocking his ears and raising his voice to hear himself over the booming music. Had it gotten louder the closer he got? He walks closer to him and leans forward slightly. “You know what I mean! When was the last time you slept, Luci?”

He guffaws childishly. “Of all the millennia we’ve lived through, you choose this one to finally start caring about my bedtime? Come now, be sensible. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ you know.” There is a pregnant pause between the brothers before Lucifer finishes his drink and eggs the other man on. “Well, you’re here for a reason you haven’t bothered to make known to me yet. Spit it out already, I’m a busy man.”

Amenadiel takes a moment to study his little brother’s face: hair an uncharacteristic mop of dark, messy curls, pocket square all out of sorts, barely able to compose himself or formulate an understandable sentence. Being a celestial, the fact that Lucifer was _physically_ intoxicated just went to show the lines he’d crossed that night to defy his biological needs. The fellow who played life like a fiddle, lived each moment to its fullest extent, was wasting away where he sat. Amenadiel hypothesized it wouldn’t be long until he was no longer functional and completely, emotionally shattered. He couldn’t bear the thought of Lucifer being alone when such a time came. 

Composing himself just enough to drown out the pandemonium, Amenadiel makes a risky decision and places a hand at the space where his brother’s neck meets his shoulder. At first, Lucifer withdraws from the touch, staring back at that stupidly profound look his brother always managed to have permanently plastered on his face. “Please, Lucifer. Close the place down for the evening.” His apprehension swiftly melts away, and for a split second, Amenadiel believes he’ll actually agree. A soft hiss of air escaping his nostrils. “I can’t stand to see you torture yourself like this any longer.”

Anger pools behind Lucifer’s now fire-red gaze, his eyebrows turning in on themselves as he rudely shrugs away his brother’s affection. “I don’t need your pity, brother. I’m bloody _Beelzebub_!” A red-haired woman casually saunters by and offers her boss a shot, which he graciously takes, throwing his head back threateningly. He doesn’t so much as make a disgusted face as the alcohol burns a trail down his esophagus. Fuck. It does nothing to impact his semi-swayed sobriety, anyway. “I certainly don’t need the physical embodiment of ‘sexual abstinence’ telling me that he disapproves of my lifestyle. Newsflash, ‘Menadiel, I quite enjoy being the family failure!”

He’d seen this behaviour in his brother before. Well, his brother and just about every cranky toddler in existence. As he stands to take hold of Lucifer’s arm to hoist him up, “You’re tired. C’mon up you go—”

“Ugh, just get it through ya thick skull already!” Lucifer fumes, standing suddenly, slamming his hands on the top of his prized instrument. “I _can't_!”

Regardless of his brother’s weary rage, the angel’s stance does not waver. He’d gotten used to Lucifer’s emotional outbursts over the years—having younger siblings requires patience, and Amenadiel’s cup certainly runneth over in that department. Lucifer catches on shortly, despite his exhaustion, and runs a hand over his unkempt ringlets of black hair in an attempt to compose himself. 

The King of Hell exhales a shaky breath. “I can’t let the Detective know w-what I truly am, I can’t let her see my wings, you know tha—” 

Amenadiel sighs. Perfectly acceptable to be anxious about your business partner finding out you are, quite literally, The Devil, and yet the overall reason for avoiding sleep was illogical. “The fact that you cannot see that you are drained is what most concerns me. I’ve just about had it up to ‘here’ with your constant neglectfulness and impulsive, irrational decisions, Samael.” Before Lucifer can so much as get in another word, his big brother stops him dead in his verbal tracks. “That’s quite enough. You’re coming with me, and that’s final.” 

“How _dare_ you.” 

Glancing over at the other celestial, Amenadiel is met with silent red eyes lit ablaze by wrath and white knuckles that meet his left cheek in a powerful punch. He pushed him up against one of the cement walls, both hands wrapped purposefully around his brother’s throat. The people around them scatter and scream as this violence breaks out; Lucifer pays them no heed.

“Everybody _out_!” he roars, his voice decibels louder than the humdrum techno-club music that was drowning out every other futile conversation. “You walk into my home, my life, criticise me to high heaven, and expect us to instantly have a, what, heart-to-heart? And to boot, you insist upon referring to me by that pitiful name? I’ll have you know, you can take your paradisiacal vanity and shove it where the sun will never shine, you oafish daddy’s boy!”

By this point, all the patrons that were having the time of their mortal lives had removed themselves from the club, taking with them fresh tidbits of gossip about how they got front-row seats to witness the mysterious owner’s wrathful family feud. Although, as the only sober individuals present at that hour were Amenadiel and the building’s personal security, it was highly unlikely anyone would legitimately believe any word of what they saw, come morning. 

Lucifer’s grip tightens, and Amenadiel makes quite the show of how he grabs hold of his brother’s suit’s lapels and slams him into a booth, utterly obliterating the wooden tabletop in the process. With purpose, Amenadiel strides up to where he lay atop the broken planks and prepares to lay another punch when he peers below and is acquainted with squinty, wet eyes that intently await his next move. Amenadiel’s memory is submerged in the days when those very same eyes used to fill with stars at the mention of his very name, and how they would watch him intently as he told him a story of Father’s might and magnificence, or taught him to soar, or wield a blade. Amenadiel can’t seem to remove the thought of a curly, raven-haired cherubim nestling in his cradle for the very time, Mother’s saccharine voice introducing him to his new baby brother. He looked into those eyes that burned with a passion for life, for his job, for _Chloe_ —a charisma unparalleled to any individual he’d ever met before—and saw fear. 

Amenadiel could not piece together where Samael ended and Lucifer began. 

His nose started to bleed, and he watched as Lucifer propped himself up on his left elbow, using the outside of his hand to swipe at the blood that flowed from his nostrils. Amenadiel never intended to do that much damage—never had such fury flooded his earthly vessel and took over the control bridge that resided in his mind.

He shakes his head, stepping back to give the Devil space to recover, letting him know he’d said everything he needed to with as few words as plausible. Groaning, Lucifer stumbles in an attempt to reorient himself back on his feet. As children, they would play-fight more often than they would get along, but there was a looming difference in the nature of this brawl that they both could sense would alter the complexion of their bond as siblings for the rest of recorded time.

“I see through you, Lucifer. You seek refuge in theatrics, and boyish womanising, and booze.... yet I know what you truly are.” 

Lucifer gives him a once over, top to bottom. “You only see what I allow you to see.” Removing his fists from his brother’s shirt, Lucifer retreats steadily to the elevator, stepping inside, and waiting for it to close in on him. “You don't know me at all, Amenadiel.” 

A fallen angel weeps somewhere in Los Angeles. Another begs for answers. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for the love on that first chapter. Forgot to mention I was slightly inspired by that line in season one where Lucifer says: “Can we not tell anyone you just carried me in your arms like a baby?”
> 
> P.S., there’s a lil’ nod to the Good Omens canon in here (; Enjoy y’all!

“ _I know what you_ truly _are.”_

Blood continues to flow furiously from Lucifer’s nose and well into his mouth, enough for him to become familiar with its tang. Amenadiel’s venomous, unforgiving words left a bitter aftertaste, one that he wasn’t as accustomed to. He didn’t think he ever would be.

In seconds, the cuts on his knuckles and nose miraculously close in on the surrounding skin, and it looks as though there was never any contusion to begin with. One of the numerous perks of divinity was that physical, bodily injury healed itself—emotional bruising was an entirely separate can of worms he wasn’t ready to unpack just yet. It was a phantom pain that tortured the mind as opposed to the body; Lucifer could handle somatic discomfort, but the cerebral was growing far too much for himself to stomach.

Before the dull elevator jazz can make his ears bleed, he reaches his personal space, the Penthouse. His sanctuary, his home. On instinct he walks towards his ornate bar, pouring himself a hearty serving of his finest brandy. As much as his pillow beckoned him to rest, Lucifer knew what would happen if he laid his head against those silky sheets for one measly minute. The last thing he needed was to wake up to find out he’d performed another winged wonder in his unconsciousness. Tears begin to prick at his eyes once again, and Lucifer screams out in anger, throwing one of his numerous crystal tumblers at the stone wall across the room. 

“ ** _AaaaaAAAAAGGGHH_ **!”

Lucifer couldn’t stand knowing that Amenadiel had made him so emotionally vulnerable after their short interaction, but once rage had successfully consumed nearly every one of his waking reverie, sorrow quickly turned to tears of fury. His vision goes blurry, and suddenly he’s tearing apart the entire space. Every photograph, bottle of alcohol, and priceless work of art in his direct line of sight obliterated, all because he would much rather throw a childish fit than feel one iota of unadulterated grief. God, how he detested emotions.

Just as the Devil’s fumigating reaches it’s pique performance, his piano appears to be the only object left untouched by passion. Lucifer peers over to the damned thing, his breathing done in heaving ups-and-downs, and he runs a hand through his unkempt locks before he can feel his heart rate plummet to the glass-laiden ground. He could never betray the apparatus of his one true joy. Music never once doubted him as his Father did, and so he had the pleasure of molding it, shaping it into whatever his heart truly desired. Once upon a time, he was the angel of music, filling an empty, lifeless Heaven with the wonderment of song; after the Fall, he clung tight to its comforts, and injected a sense of individualism into his God-given talent. (No more bloody hymnals.)

_“Lucifer?”_

Vehemence surges in the pit of the King’s stomach—couldn’t he just be left alone at this point? “If you know what’s good for your health, you’ll stay _away_ ,” he seethes, fully-well knowing Amenadiel would continue to inch further towards him.

“Please brother, I haven’t come here to fight.” Amenadiel holds up his two hands in a surrendering manner, taking another guided step in his direction. “I merely wish to amend the wrongs I’ve done you. Give me a second chance, Lucifer. It’s what I deserve.”

“Oh, that’s rich. I was never offered one, nor did I insist upon the blessing of such a _stupid_ opportunity,” Lucifer scoffs. “For the final time, and I mean it when I say I will not be repeating myself, Amenadiel. Get. _Out_.” It is at this time that Lucifer brings himself to stand nearly nose-to-nose with his older brother, and Amenadiel narrows his eyes to best focus on him. 

**_“LEAVE ME.”_ **

Restraining any expression of emotion, Amenadiel’s years of training for war drown his senses. His gaze unfeeling, yet his soul full of resolution. With no ounce of trepidation, he takes the outside of his own hand and places it against his brother’s hot cheek. With the pad of his thumb, he strokes the damp skin compassionately. With gentleness, he made sure his brother was truly listening. “I watched you destroy yourself once, brother. I would give up the Silver City a million times over if it meant you never ailed again.”

Lucifer does not recoil at the touch, but instead seems to become entranced by Amenadiel’s understanding of his turmoil. When his breathing hitches pathetically, Amenadiel believes that a human would say that was when ‘shit hits the fan.’ Lucifer’s legs turn to jello, and suddenly his brother has burst out sobbing and thrown himself into his arms. 

Amenadiel’s stoic guise withered away as Lucifer clung tighter and tighter to him, like he was afraid with any passing second that his brother would dissipate into nothingness. All he can do for now is reciprocate the rare affection, hoping that in matching the sentiment, Lucifer will open up to him.

“Mah-maaa,” heaved the little devil, rubbing at his eyes fervently, his grip never once wavering in strength. 

Mother. He missed their _mother_. How could this be? Rebellious children aren’t usually the ones that exhibit this kind of behaviour, after all; even in their earlier years, he’d never once shown signs of clinginess towards any higher authority, _especially_ their parents. “O-okay, Luci, it’s gonna be alright,” Amenadiel pries, attempting to nudge Lucifer to stand and support his body weight on his own. He just wouldn’t budge.

The eldest sibling maneuvers his hands so that they are positioned underneath Lucifer’s armpits. With superhuman ease, Amenadiel heaves Lucifer off the ground, who then proceeds to wrap his lanky legs around his brother’s waist. Rapidly, Amenadiel makes his way across the trashed living space and into Lucifer’s lavish bedroom, which he left undisturbed in his tantrum. All the while, Lucifer continues to weep openly, his tears staining the crook between where Amenadiel’s neck meets his shoulder. 

“Alright, alright, I know you’re upset but I gotta set you down for a second,” he tries, but to no avail, as snot and salty tears carry on with cascading enthusiastically down his face. There is a blatant ringing that pierces Amenadiel’s eardrums as he ventures putting Lucifer down on the bed sheets; gently, he leans over and takes both of his hands, placing them atop the other fellow’s, and tenderly pulling them off. Guiding him onto the plush bedclothes, Lucifer swipes at his tear-stained eyes in an attempt to self-soothe. He wriggles uncomfortably, trying to convey to his brother that he needed to get his blasted tight vest and jacket _off_ as soon as possible. Amenadiel takes a quick breather before he sets back to work shedding him of those stuffy Armani garments he was always so mad about. 

He couldn’t help but think of Linda in a time such as this. Yes, they may have broken up (and mutually agreed to remain separate for the time being), but he desperately wanted, no, _needed_ her insight. If there was anyone who could get through to his brother in a crisis, it would be her. The angel takes one shaky hand and scans for her contact in Lucifer’s phone, which he pulled out of one of his suit jacket’s many pockets. After a couple of rings, she picks up—Thank _Father._

 _“Lucifer? It’s two in the morning, what’s wrong?”_ Linda’s heart pangs against her chest cavity as drowsiness turns to realisation. _“Wait, if you’re calling to talk about Chloe, did you try tha—”_

Amenadiel cradles Lucifer’s cellular device in the crook between his cheek and shoulder, trying to simultaneously rid Lucifer of his ornate suit as speedily as he could (the inventor of the ‘button’ was most certainly no friend of his). He usually worked alright under pressure, but these were extenuating circumstances. “Hi, Linda, it’s me. I-I apologise for the hour.” 

Linda blinked. Was she hallucinating? No, she recognised that charming, rumbling voice anywhere. _“Amenadiel, I, um. Hi?”_ She honestly was speechless, attempting to figure out in her newly-awoken state why her old flame was contacting her on her _client’s_ device, no less, and at this ungodly hour. _“What’s going on, who on earth is crying? Do you have a small child with you? Did you get another woman pregnant?!”_

“No. No! You _know_ how greatly I value and respect our decision to split, so I’m not calling to talk about us. What I need right now is a doctor’s advice, and you’re the most resourceful one I know.” 

Oh. Definitely not what she was expecting. She sits up, propping herself against her bed’s cold, wooden headboard. Looks like she’d be clocking in a bit earlier than she expected. _“I’m the_ only _doctor you know. But, in any case, how may I be of service, Dr. Canaan?”_

Despite his urge to smile at the memory of the pseudonym he took up to extract information about his brother from her, Lucifer’s face had turned a particularly striking shade of red that could make a habanero pepper sweat bullets before his sobbing climbed in volume. “I-it’s Lucifer. I’m certain something’s very wrong, Linda,” he manages over the wails. “I may have… raised my voice at him and said some things I’m not proud of, and when I did try to apologise, he just burst into tears. He hasn’t let go of me since then, nor responded to a single word I’ve said. You of all people know better than I about what exactly plagues his mind, and how he’d truly hate to vocalise it, but I think the life-long turmoil he’s experienced has finally caught up to his psyche. I suppose the only cause for my surprise is that he’s the King of Hell! Demons bow down before him, the most, vile, evil humans would quiver in fear at his sight, and now his well of strength has dried? What, ‘cause he’s sleepy?”

A metaphorical jolt of lightning strikes Linda Martin. In her years of not only being a well-seasoned therapist but treating Lucifer in general, Linda hadn’t exactly anticipated this sort of conduct to spring forth from the emotional wells of her most exceptional patient; suppose Amenadiel was correct, that tonight was the night he’d legitimately brought down the walls that held back the immense emotional insecurities he’d burdened himself with for eons now. Of course. What on earth was she thinking? It _had_ to be.

 _“Our last session, he was just... utterly spent. Said something about having not slept for an_ entire week _. You yelling at him, on top of what’s been happening with the detective, also your… unimaginable loss, well… I'd say this is a textbook example of involuntary age regression. Stress-induced, for sure. I only ever treated one patient before Lucifer that experienced it, and prior to that it was in an article given out as homework when I was back in med school. So, I know very little, but enough to not call a deer a horse.”_

Her explanation stupefied him. Studying his brother’s wriggling form on the bed, he catches a glimpse of his brown eyes, vacant and watery. “It’s like he’s disappeared.” He pauses to think, realising what he might’ve implied. “No, n-not physically gone, but… emotionally. It’s as if he’s hiding, Doctor, and… And, I don’t know what to do. Look, even when he’s in an adult ‘headspace,’ he doesn’t enjoy my company. How am I supposed to care for him properly if I know he doesn’t even accept my presence?”

The angel can hear her sigh, and deeply, too. _“Amenadiel, this isn’t about what Lucifer, the_ man _, needs right now. This is about Lucifer, the_ child _. Lucifer is hiding, but not from you. From himself. You certainly have his best interests in mind, which is what caring for those younger than us encompasses at its core. You mentioned once that neither you nor any of your siblings had much of a childhood, yea? Well, maybe this is your father trying to tell you something. If not, then I’d count it as a blessing—you’ve got a window to_ show _your brother just how much you care for him. Words can only go so far, you know?”_

Were Linda physically present, Amenadiel would have positively swept her off of her feet and kissed her as though it was their last time. “If my brother is a-a, as you imply, ‘child of mind,’” he questions into the phone, “how can I possibly help him?”

Dr. Martin had to swipe at her cheeks and internally compose herself before she dove any deeper. _“Um, well, I suppose my first course of action would be to get him to drink some water, make him feel comfortable. If he isn’t up for talking just yet, just stay close. Let him know you’re there to support him no matter how young a mindframe he’s in. If we’re right, and what Lucifer is experiencing is regression, the thoughts he must be having are much too scary for such a little guy to handle alone.”_

Before Amenadiel can make a comment in response, Lucifer begins to whimper again, and he can sense a fresh bout of tears are about to start up once more. Swiftly, the soldier discards the last of his brother’s dressier clothing and impulsively grabs a pair of silky pajamas from the grandiose drawer that was located at the entrance of his bedroom. He puts the phone on ‘speaker’ before setting it down on the bed, busying himself with dressing Lucifer for a long night’s rest. Once each button was properly done up, Amenadiel sits on the mattress and pulls his brother onto his lap, rubbing circles on his back to sooth any oncoming blubbering. “Hey _,_ Luci, _shh-shh,_ you’re alright…”

On the other side of the phone, Linda’s face lights up. _“Yeah, just like that!”_ she encourages. _“Now, check to see if he has a fever.”_

“A fever?” 

_“There’s a possibility the insomnia made him sick. Elimination of any other statute of discomfort he’s experiencing right now might help stop the crying.”_ Question as he does, Amenadiel obeys and uses the outside of his hand to check if Lucifer’s external temperature was an indication of something worse inside. 

He hums. “I don’t think he’s ill, which I suppose is a win. Is there anything else it could possibly be?” 

The two adults discuss possible stressors in young children; since this was the first time either of them had encountered a regressed Lucifer, and there was no clear indicator of his age, every decision they made to appease him was a pure guess. Whilst they continue to chat for another minute or so, Lucifer is shushed and rocked, his tears kept at bay until all that was left was a sporadic hiccup here or there. Linda stays on the phone all the while, before she pipes up. 

_“I was just thinking, I bet you have a beautiful singing voice. Maybe try a lullaby,”_ she suggests. _“Babies love singing, and if he’s as young as we guess right now, probably feeling some pretty intense emotions, music would really help ground him. Isn’t Heaven jam-packed with, I dunno, angel choirs, or constant worship radio? Like, the kind that sounds like Nickelback?”_

“I recall around the 1960s, our father took a particular liking to ‘The Sound of Music.’ Insisted that the soundtrack played 24/7. Our brother Castiel took that a little too seriously.” 

Linda stifles a laugh—Heaven must be really vanilla, she thought. _“You know Lucifer, what he likes. I’m sure something will come to you.”_ She flips through the calendar on her phone, looking for the next best time for her and the King of Hell to have a session. _“Could you bring him to my office tomorrow morning, eight-thirty? I had another patient cancel and I’m positive Lucifer will need the clarity.”_

“I will,” he affirms. And before he can give her the chance to hang up, “hey, Linda?”

Her voice, cool as a spring breeze, sends a familiar shiver down his spine. God, how he missed that thrill. _“Yes, Amenadiel?”_

“Thank you,” he whispers, so not to disturb the nearly-sleeping babe staring intently up at him. 

_“‘And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,’ and all that. Goodnight.”_ Just like that, the call has ended. 

Setting down the phone, Amenadiel watches as his brother does the most peculiar thing. He’d seen human infants do it multiple times before, whenever bored or simply too small to know what to properly do with their extremities. Lucifer slips his pointer and middle finger into his mouth and begins to suck on them, humming slightly as his weeping plummets exponentially. Were Amenadiel not so completely shaken up, he would have thought he looked rather adorable. But, perhaps those thoughts would grace his mind another day.

Lifting Lucifer was an easy task Amenadiel was beyond confident in. He positions him against his chest, so that his brother’s mop of dark curls is placed underneath his strong chin, and that his bum was supported by his arms wrapping right underneath it. Amenadiel begins to sway and rock, the way he’d seen parents do with their little ones since he started visiting earth. They did so with such serenity and satisfaction in their countenance—the ground on which they stood could crumble beneath their feet, but as long as their child was protected, they were happy.

While all of the Lord’s children had their unique gifts bestowed upon them by their father, they all shared one talent in common: the gift of song. Taking a deep breath in, Amenadiel’s speaking tone translates smoothly into a pacifying melody, one fit to lull even the Devil himself to sleep. 

Cradling the back of his brother’s head with his right hand, Amenadiel undulates his little brother in a back-and-forth motion, until he notes that his breathing has calmed down substantially. The vibrations from his baritone chest omitted a frequency that seemed to spellbind Lucifer, and eventually, all that was left from his tearful performance was the blotchy, red tint to his face and cheeks. 

The angel’s voice swells over every note, giving each one special care and attention as his song pressed on. When he reaches its conclusion, Lucifer removes his fingers from his mount and can feel the fuzzy sensation vanish from his mind, unclouding his adult thoughts.

“I’m brok’n.”

Metaphorically speaking, Amenadiel gets slapped in the face with newborn confusion. “What was that?”

“I’m not her Lightbringer anymore. Haven’t been for quite some time, actually,” he declares, as if reciting common law. “You should go, Amenadiel.” Were this a night where he’d carefully built up his walls once again, his last statement would’ve certainly vocalised as a direct order. But, the wavering bite to his speech suggests he has no ounce of fight left in him. 

“I miss Mother, too, little one,” the eldest confessed. “From our parent’s love, you were created to illuminate this universe and enhance every beautiful aspect of it for all else to see. You will always be the Lightbringer. She would be very proud of you, Lucifer, _I’m_ proud of you.” 

It’s now Lucifer’s turn to be perplexed, and he can feel him sigh deeply against his chest. His trembling starts anew, and unexpectedly the floodgates softly reopen, only until Amenadiel begins to shush him once more. 

“I used to be convinced you were my test from Dad. I was too blinded by my obsession to go back home, by selfishness, that I didn’t even notice what was happening right in front of me. Knowing you were suffering—that you currently are—but that I turned an unseeing eye and refused to be at your aid… Luci, my heart is shattered. Did you genuinely believe I didn’t mourn, watching Father send you off in the way that he?” Amenadiel allows his own sadness to surface, and he holds the man-boy in his arms just the slightest mite tighter. “I confess I haven’t been reliable. We may not agree on a lot of fronts, yet there is no force that will hinder my love for you. I apologise for that unfortunate slip of the tongue earlier.”

His gaze shifts to the boy in his arms. Their eyes meet for the first time since their fight not too many hours ago. “I’m not here to fix you, because you were never broken in the first place—it is I who requires… intense mending. I truly wish to do right by you, so I’ll promise with words, little brother, that from here on out you shall never walk the path of life alone. My actions will reflect this, always.”

Lucifer Morningstar is instantly transported back to a mindset that does not delight in barriers and finds himself smiling sleepily at his oldest sibling, noting the heartfelt persistence in his features. Both brothers were incredibly tired, and they'd done enough talking (and crying) for one earthly day. The Devil could think of only one thing he truly desired in his nearly-regressed, languid state. 

“Will you sing me another lullaby?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d really appreciate it if you left a comment telling me what ya thought! If not, no worries, stay healthy & safe, loves! xx


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